Threat Level
by badfanfictionaire
Summary: Bucky wants to go back to the way things were before he was TWS, but he knows that can't happen. What he does know is that he doesn't want to rejoin society until he knows he's not a threat. What he doesn't know is how long that's going to take.
1. Anton Vavilov

One thing is for certain, Bucky knows he can't go back into the 'real world' until he knows he isn't a threat to anyone. The only thing he doesn't know is how long that's going to take.

For the first couple of weeks after he leaves Steve on the side of the river his only goal is to make sure that Steve survived. After giving the hospital proper surveillance, he knows Steve's going to make it, and he leaves for New Jersey the very next day.

The taxi driver takes him into the city in the middle of the night and drops him at the first cheap hotel Bucky sees. He doesn't know if his Hydra issued credit cards will still work, or if he can remember how to use them, but he has to hope for the best.

According to the ATM screen (after he finally gets it work) he's only got $250 dollars to his name. They have him down as "Anton Vavilov", though he knows now that's not who he really is. He tells the hotel receptionist his name is James Barnes, though he's not sure that name is fitting anymore either.

"You know, you look just like that guy in the museum," the woman tells him, snapping her gum loudly, "But I'm sure you get that a lot, huh?"

He clears his throat and asks her who she's referring to, his voice comes out gruff with a strange accent to it.

"The one who was with Captain America, in the video. My kid had to go to New York for a field trip the other day and they had this video in one of the museums about how Cap's friend, Bubba or something, died in a train accident or somethin'."

"Oh, sorry, I've never heard of him before. I'm not.. from around here."

"I got that by the accent darlin'," the woman says, "What is that, Austrian or somethin'?"

"Russian," Bucky tells her uncomfortably.

"Oh, right, Russia. That giant winter wonderland. Alright, well enjoy your stay hun." She handed Bucky the hotel key and went back to her TV program. It was in color, Bucky noticed.

There were a lot of things he was going to have to get used to in 2014.

**Current Threat Level Status: _unknown_**


	2. James

In the morning he had to leave the hotel. He didn't have enough money to stay another night, and he really needed to go to New York. That's where Steve was from, supposedly.

There was only so much he remembered from the past. It came in waves. Sometimes he felt 100% like the Russian assassin he still resembled. He would mutter in Russian, clean his weapons, put on his black war paint… and then when he woke up he was disgusted by the face he saw in the mirror and couldn't remember why he had a loaded gun under his pillow.

The good thing was he didn't mind being out on the streets because he was fairly used to it. Or least one facet of him was. He started to look at his existence as a multi-sided die. Certain aspects of Bucky Barnes still remained, like the odd desire for everything to be orderly and military-like, and the bits and pieces of his own biography. Then there were the aspects of the Russian guy, whoever he was, that remembered how to work modern things like phones and TVs, but that was restless and paranoid. His brain flipped back and forth at random. Some days he got a good balance of the two, the part that felt human and the part that knew how to hail a cab without being run over in the busy NYC streets.

Being in New York was dragging up some old memories, and that felt good. At night he would find a place to settle down in Central Park, his stealth senses made it easy not to get caught by any guards. He remembered getting hot dogs with Steve at Coney Island, going to bars and trying to pick up women…

Time drifted by slowly. The local paper told him it was almost September, and the fall breeze agreed. It was beginning to get chilly, but Bucky's body was used to the Russian cold. When it started to get really bad he found a shelter to stay the night on. The free soup there was better than the pretzels and candied nuts he'd been stealing from street carts. He used their restroom to splash some water on his face and slick his hair back so it didn't hang in his eyes. He hadn't bothered to try and cut it because it didn't feel right yet, who ever he was right now didn't care how he looked. The tangled mess of brown locks fell just passed his shoulders now, creating a stark contrast to the single photo of James Barnes he'd seen.

In the mess hall a man with tired eyes sat across from him, looking for someone to talk to.

"Where ya from?" the man asked with a thick New York accent.

His own voice came out still marred with a hint of a Russian accent, "I think Indiana."

"Been that long since you been home? That you don't remember, huh?" the man let out a deep belly laugh, "You don't look old enough to be that lost, kid."

Bucky shrugged, "Not much I can do about it."

The man sighed, "I hear that. The name's Phil, by the way. What's yours, kid?"

"James," Bucky told him stiffly.

"You don't look much like a James, but if that's who you wanna be I won't stop you." Phil slurped some coffee from his styrofoam cup and looked around the room."This is never where I meant to end up, you know?"

Bucky nodded but didn't say anything.

"I was in the army, they sent me over to Iraq. I came back and… Well, you know. Shit happens. PTSD will lose you a lot in life if you can't kick it. Wife left, took the kids, and here I am."

"I'm sorry," Bucky replied.

"Hey, don't be, wasn't your fault. I'm sure you're in a worse situation than me, to end up here so early on."

"Similar story, actually," Bucky confided, "Very similar."

"Ah," Phil said, slurping more coffee, he looked at Bucky to continue.

"I was, uh… Kidnapped, overseas. Taken hostage. I came back and everyone I knew was gone. And here I am."

"Well shit kid, that's no kind of life story."

"I'm hoping the ending will be better," Bucky sighed. He folded his mitten clad hands in his lap and leaned against the table.

"You otta try gettin' a job some place, they'll take young kids like you just about anywhere if they think you've got any background worth using. I mean even McDonald's, something. You can't afford to live like this, James. Clean yourself up, get back on your feet. You've still got time to get back on track. You don't have _anyone_ that can help you out?"

Not yet, he thought. "Just me," Bucky said softly. Because I don't trust myself yet.

**Current Threat Leve l Status ****_: moderate_**


	3. Might Be Nice

Some part of him knew enough to fake a resume. He wasn't sure which facet of himself was the clever one, but for the moment it didn't matter much. He'd realized that Phil was on to something when he'd said Bucky should get a job somewhere.

Working at the movie theater seemed to be a pretty good job for him. The interior space had this thing called "air conditioning" which made it fairly cool and allowed him to wear long sleeves at all times. The people there were a little put off by his gloves at first, but no one directly questioned him about it.

Bucky especially loved it when the theater wasn't busy and they allowed him to use his free weekly ticket and sit in the back row of a showing. Modern color films were great, and there were so many to choose from. He didn't care for the one about the Princess who shot ice around her kingdom, but he did really enjoy the one about Noah's Ark. He couldn't figure out how they'd made all the animals ride on the boat in the ocean like that until one of the other workers explained that most of it was designed on computers.

He largely went through his days unnoticed by the other staff members, until one day a girl with really long eyelashes named Mandy started talking to him as they served popcorn.

"Have you ever been to the Intrepid Museum?" she questioned hesitantly.

"Uh no, what do they have there?" Bucky replied flatly.

"It's a sea, air, and space gallery. They have a lot of ships and stuff… They had this special exhibit not that long ago on the helicarriers that SHIELD was using… You look just like the guy who was Steve Roger's old partner, in the film."

"Sorry, I haven't seen that film."

"I mean, there's no way you're the same guy. I watched a few other videos on the internet. They have a gallery at the Smithsonian and in their videos they talk about how Cap's partner died in a train wreck… It's all a little confusing, they make it sound like he was immortal and came back on the helicarrier to kill Captain America. You should check it out, you're a dead ringer for that guy. I bet you could play him in a movie or something."

"Yeah," Bucky grumbled, not wanting to keep up conversation.

"It's such a shame you know?" Mandy sighed, "Cap's partner, the one who was cool not the killer one, was _so_ charming."

"I'm sure he was," Bucky grimaced.

"Oh, sorry… I wasn't trying to make it seem like you weren't charming, because you look like the killer one… Okay, I'm just going to stop while I'm ahead… Sorry, sorry…"

Bucky remained quiet, resisting the urge to roughly warn Mandy about bad mouthing people. Instead he handed two little kids their bags of popcorn and rinsed his buttery hands in the sink. They worked without another word until the end of the shift when Mandy cast a hesitant glance at him and piped up, "You know, come to think of it, you do actually look like both of Cap's partners… Just… More scruffy than the first. But less serial killer-esque than the last… I just, wanted to clarify… Have a nice night…"

"You didn't have to clarify," Bucky sighed, "But thank you anyway."

"Have you ever thought about…" Mandy said, gesturing around Bucky's general being, "You know, trying something… Different? Like maybe not all black? Or like, at least a hair tie?"

Part of me has, Bucky thought, the other half was too busy trying not to kill people like you… "Yeah," Bucky muttered, "Not really my thing."

Mandy looked embarrassed. Her cheeks turned pink and she tilted her head down so her bangs sort of shielded her from his gaze. "You seem like a nice guy," she told him, "I know what its like, to put up that wall? So people don't ask questions? But it doesn't do a lot of good, you just wind up sad and lonely. Its not really fun being open and social at first, but its better than being alone…"

"Thanks, Mandy," Bucky replied curtly, "You seem nice too." He couldn't imagine her being anything less than the young perky movie theater girl she was currently, but then again he barely knew her. The same as she couldn't imagine him being the soldier in a crisp uniform standing alongside Captain Rogers…

Mandy's voice shook him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see her staring at him expectantly.

"So, is that a yes or…?"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I said, I know you probably don't want to, but I was thinking maybe you'd want to get dinner sometime?"

"How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty three. Just old enough to live on my own but not old enough to have a good career yet."

"Oh," Bucky muttered, "That's really nice of you, but…"

"And don't take this the wrong way, but if you ever need a place to stay, my apartment has a futon… Um, just in case you uh… Wanted to know that."

He felt his face flush, Mandy knew he didn't have a place to go after work. He wondered how many other people had figured that out by now.

"You can't be more than what, twenty six? So it's not like there's a creepy age gap… Well I mean, I don't think its creepy… Okay, stopping talking…"

"You seem really nice, Mandy, but I'm not sure you want a friend like me, I'm not really the 'friend' type."

She struggled to hide her disappointment, but Bucky saw it clearly on her face. "Uh, okay… Sorry, to bother you… You must think I'm so strange now… Uh, have a good night…"

"... Maybe a coffee?"

"Uh, yeah…" she smiled a little, "Yeah, that'd be nice."

He returned the slight smile, "Yeah, I think it would."

**Current Threat Level Status: ****_moderate_**


	4. James Brown

The next time Bucky and Mandy worked the same shift he knew she was going to want to get coffee after, he was expect that much, but he wasn't expecting her to start drilling him for information as soon as they walked out the door.

"So what's your last name again?"

"Brown," he replied.

"James Brown, original," Mandy commented, "Were you named after the musician?"

"Who?"

"Never mind…"

"Sorry, I just didn't know there was a musician named James Brown, so I guess that answers your question," he said, forcing a laugh.

"Of course you didn't…" Mandy mused softly, "If you don't know James Brown, who do you know?"

"Uh… Glenn Miller," Bucky offered, "Louis Armstrong?"

"Of course," Mandy laughed, "Jazz, I should have known."

"How could you have known? You hardly know me at all, I wouldn't expect you to know what I like for music..." he questioned.

"Never mind," Mandy said again, "Okay, so favorite movie?"

"Don't have one," Bucky replied honestly.

"You work in a movie theater and you don't have a favorite movie, go figure."

He turned away from her as they kept walking but he felt her eyes on him still, it was making him uneasy.

"Are you going to make me do all the talking?" Mandy mumbled as they turned yet another corner.

"Sorry," Bucky muttered, "Not big on it."

"You don't seem to be big on much," Mandy retorted, "You know, you could have said no to coming with me."

"Didn't want to hurt your feelings," Bucky said lightly.

"Well you are right now, by not giving me anything to work with. It's not exactly fun when someone puts themself out there and you just mope around. Also, coffee was your idea."

"Sorry," Bucky muttered, feeling his cheeks get hot.

"You are one weird dude," Mandy sighed, "And that's an understatement…"

"Tell me about yourself," Bucky blurted, "I'm not that interesting…"

She eyed him suspiciously and then obliged his request. "Well, you know the basics. I live in a shit-hole apartment, I went to school for English Literature. Last name is Handover. I like Frank Sinatra and my favorite movie is anything with Mark Wahlberg in it..."

"Who's Mark Wahlberg?"

"Of course, you don't know him either. Boston accent, really well muscled guy, used to be a rapper. He's in _Shooter_ and _Pain & Gain_."

"Uh huh," Bucky replied, not having a clue what she was talking about.

They reached the coffee shop and he held the door open for her which received a grateful smile. "Chivalry's not dead after all," she laughed.

He didn't know what that was supposed to imply, but he didn't dare admit it.

They ordered two coffees and a container of powdered donuts. Mandy got something fancy with whipped milk, and Bucky just took his coffee black, and then they opted to sit at a booth. Initially neither of them said anything, but then Mandy piped up again. He was starting to get used to her incessant talking, but he was still uneasy about her constant questions.

"You know, now that I think about it, I don't know if a ponytail would look good on you after all."

He tried not to envision muffling her with his sweatshirt and then stalking out into the night. Instead he just tried to look interested in what she had to say and sipped his coffee.

"I know its weird, but I have this bad habit of over analyzing people. And you are definitely not the ponytail kind of guy… I just can't decide what kind of guy you are."

"I don't think I'm any 'type' of guy," Bucky said flatly.

Mandy shrugged, "I guess, maybe."

"Sorry, that was rude…"

"It's fine," Mandy said, "I talk a lot, you don't. I get it, I'm annoying you."

"I'm not used to having to make conversation," he admitted.

"I can't imagine why," Mandy said under her breath, as if he wasn't supposed to hear. He let it go, not wanting to hear her theory on his lack of conversation skills. "My ex boyfriend was a computer analyst for some huge company," she sighed, "He was all suits and ties, nothing unique. But he had this stupid haircut that made him look like he walked off of an early Beatles album cover. It was god awful."

Beetles album? He'd never heard of an album about bugs, nor could he imagine why anyone would waste money making albums (something expensive to produce) on insects. Not to mention, as far as he knew beetles didn't have hair…

"Okay," he said, "Where is this story going exactly?"

"Sorry, sorry. My point was that I guess sometimes you aren't one type of person, so its sort of hard to pin down. So I get it, that maybe you aren't any type of guy. I mean, the next time I saw Scott he was joining the National Guard and he'd started sporting a mustache, which was some how worse than the dumb haircut."

He studied Mandy for a moment, not being able to place her next to a guy with a mustache and a nice suit. In fact she looked a lot like the lead female role in that new movie about Spider Man, which he'd just gotten a free ticket to see earlier that week. She wasn't a pin up girl by any means, but she was cute and had a bubbly personality. Not the sort of gal who would stick around in a stuffy office while her guy worked the late shift.

"After he broke up with me, I was mortified. He was the sort of guy people say you're supposed to end up with. He had a job, a good place to live, he was going places… I felt like such a failure. I didn't talk to anyone for months because I kept thinking there must've been something wrong with me for him to just leave…"

"He doesn't seem like he was that great, Mandy," Bucky chimed in before she could continue.

Her face flushed, "No, you're right. That's what I figured out eventually. But for a while I was so down on myself, I kept thinking about all the bad things I had ever done and I felt like I was some how responsible for him not wanting me. But it wasn't that, he'd just moved on…"

"Sometimes you have to move on," he mused.

"Yeah," Mandy sighed, finishing her coffee in one big swallow, "Listen, James. Um, I just wanted to say, that whatever it is that's holding you back? Learn from me, okay? Don't hold on to all the wrong things."

As they got up to leave Mandy handed him a small scrap of paper. "Just in case," she said with a small smile. And then she left.

As he walked out on to the chilly side walk he looked at the paper and stopped dead in his tracks.

* * *

_You're probably going to think this is creepy but I looked you up online, and you don't exist. _

_(At least "James Brown" from Pensacola who studied at MIT doesn't…) _

_Also, I'm not stupid. James Brown? Come on, at least pick different initials! _

_Anyhow, if you ever want to talk, like really talk, about anything, let me know. _

_You shouldn't have to face this alone, and there are people out there who would be more than willing to help you._

_-Mandy_

_456 West 36th Ave, Apt. 4B. _

* * *

**Current Threat Level Status: ****_considerable_**


	5. Captain America Key-chain

Mandy knew who he was, somehow. He wasn't sure if this was something that should terrify him or put him at ease, but he needed to talk to her. _Now._

"Oh good," Mandy said as she opened the door dressed in her pajamas and half asleep, "It's just you, not a burglar."

"How did you know," Bucky growled, holding the note close to her face.

Her eyes went wide with a bit of fright, "I uh, when you took the rubber serving gloves off, to wash your hands, I saw… your 'hand'. And I mean I wasn't sold because people to weird shit like that all the time, especially in New York, so I was like 'well it could be a tattoo or something', but then there was the whole fact that you look just like the guy from the video and you don't know much about anything before the 40s…"

"Please tell me you haven't told anyone else."

"Why would I? I wasn't even sure I was right, but now you're standing on my front stoop, at midnight, and you look like you're going to stab me in the neck, so I guess I was… By the way, please don't stab me."

"Not going to," Bucky muttered.

"Gee, thanks," Mandy replied, her eyes still dilated, "By the way, I got home and someone had left me a small box addressed to you so… If you want it, you can come in…"

Her apartment was up a million flights of stairs and down a lengthy, musty hallway, but inside it was warm and nicely decorated. Small glass lights on a string hung around the windows and a collage of magazine cut outs decorated one of the walls.

"I was just going to give it to you tomorrow at work, if you showed up, but you can just take it now," Mandy said as she walked into the kitchenette.

"How did they know to give it to you?" Bucky questioned.

"Beats me, I don't even know who its from, it doesn't say."

He took the small cardboard box from her and carefully pried the top open. Inside was a small envelope, a plastic bag with a comb, soap and a clean long sleeve shirt, and a book. He peeled the envelope open and found a couple of things in it. One was a plastic card with James B Barnes written in gold raised letters on it, a StarkGold Card to be exact. The next thing was a piece of lined paper with familiar handwriting scrawled on it.

_Buck,_

_Thought maybe this would be helpful until you're ready to come back. _

_I put $1,000 on it, but I can add more whenever you need it. _

_We left this with Mandy because she seems trustworthy, we ran a back-ground check on her._

_If you need anything else just leave a note for me with her. _

_I'll let you have your space, but whenever you want I'll be here, ready to talk._

_Best of Luck,_

_Steve_

The last item was a bronze house key with a little mini Captain America shield key-chain attached to it.

**Current Threat Level Status: ****_considerable_**


	6. Coffee and Bagels

The room was pitch black when he woke up, startled. He had to think for a moment to remember where he was: on Mandy's futon. She'd insisted he stay the night because now that she knew The Avengers were watching her she was afraid they'd be upset if she didn't protect him. He'd insisted it wasn't necessary, that he'd been on his own long enough to survive just fine, but she was more persistent than he'd anticipated.

He glanced over at the counter and saw the box from Steve with the key-chain dangling over the side. A twinge of guilt struck him, for not having stuck around longer to see him.

He rolled over on the futon so he could look out the window. The smell of clean sheets wafted his way and he felt even more guilty. Why should he, a man who killed so many innocent people, be allowed to sleep on a clean set of sheets? He was so aware of all the smells in Mandy's apartment it almost made him dizzy. Her hand soap smelled like fresh lemons, a glass vase of oil in on her coffee table smelt of lavender...

He'd put on the shirt from Steve so Mandy could run his other one through the wash. Bucky could smell, faintly, the lingering scent of Steve's favorite cologne in the fabric. It was mixed with strawberries and cream shampoo, Mandy's favorite, because she refused to let him sleep on clean sheets without showering thoroughly beforehand.

Mandy was too kind to him, and almost naive about the situation as a whole. He feared he might hurt her, unintentionally, if the Winter Soldier started to flare up inside him. But she didn't seem to notice he was worried about her safety, and if she'd picked up on it she was hiding it well. For someone being monitored by well trained special intelligence operatives and housing a former Russian assassin, she was level headed and sympathetic. Some how she understood that he liked his space and didn't enjoy being pestered with questions, though she also knew the right ones to ask to get him talking. He liked that about her.

At around 2am he still hadn't fallen asleep and Mandy's phone suddenly started ringing. It was one of those small ones with the glass screen, a cellphone, if he remembered correctly. He heard footsteps and Mandy emerged from her bedroom, eying him apologetically. After a lengthy and stressful sounding phone call she came back into the living room. "Sorry about that, I forgot I had company, I should have taken my phone in my room."

"Not a problem, I couldn't sleep anyhow," he admitted, "Who calls you at 2 am though?"

"Oh," Mandy blushed, "My other job, sorry, I never mention it because people tend to start asking questions I can't answer. I'm part of the suicide hotline. People can call in if they're in need of someone to talk to to prevent them from killing themselves."

"Oh," Bucky replied with admiration, "I didn't know they had those."

She nodded, "Sorry I woke you, if I did."

"You didn't," he assured her.

* * *

The next time he woke up there was sun glinting in his eyes. There was a mug and a half a pot of coffee left for him with a note from Mandy.

_We don't have to be in to work until 2 pm so I stepped out to grab breakfast. I can't cook and I was guessing you probably can't either, but I'm out of cereal. Be back in a bit!_

_-Mandy_

No sooner had he read the note than he heard the patter of shoes coming up the steps. Mandy's key jiggled in the lock and she stepped into the apartment carrying a bag of bagels in one hand an a bag of some other stuff in the other.

"I took the liberty of grabbing you a few more shirts so you won't have to alternate between just the two black ones," Mandy said, kicking the door shut behind her. "There's a tiny dollar store on the corner that opens early, thought you might like something different to wear to work."

He could see she was blushing a little but didn't know why. "How did you know what size to buy? And you didn't have to do that, really."

"I looked at the tag of the one you had on, and the one Captain… er, Steve sent you... I guess you're a large because the one you have on fits fine so…"

"Why are you blushing?" he blurted.

She shook her head, "I'm just flushed from going up those stairs, want a bagel?"

Bucky nodded and took the bags from her, setting them down on the counter. "You don't have to lie to me," he said cautiously, "I'm not going to hurt you if you say something I might not like."

Mandy let out a nervous laugh, "No, I'm not worried I just... Okay, if you must know, I just... I started to realize that I li-"

A knock on the door interrupted her and she gratefully went to open it. Outside the door no one was there, but another package lay at the threshold.

One of the envelopes inside was addressed to Mandy, the other to Bucky.

_Dear Mandy,_

_Sorry for the sudden involvement in your life, I'm just thankful Bucky found you. He has always had a hard time warming up to people, but I think he likes you well enough already. You should be fine, but if you need help call the Stark Tower, extension 34, and just tell them it's Mandy for Steve. They'll know who you are. _

_Don't let him give you a hard time, keep him in his place, and if he's getting under your skin just tell him he's starting to look like a drown rat, that'll shut him up._

_Thanks again._

_Best,_

_Steve Rogers_

_PS: He's oblivious to flirtatious, sorry about that._

_Buck,_

_Hope things are working out better for you now that you're staying with Mandy. I had Natasha drop this stuff off for you, she's in the area so if you want some Russian company you know who to look for. (You remember her, right? Black Widow?)_

_Anyhow, try to be nice to Mandy. She's the best thing you've got going for you right now._

_Best,_

_Steve_

_PS: The poor dame is into you, throw the girl a bone._

"What's yours say?"

"Not much."

"Yeah, mine either."

**_Current Threat Level Status: __moderate_**


	7. (Almost) Bucky Barnes

Two weeks later Bucky finally felt like he was settling into life in 2014. He still felt out of place in the bustling city, and staying in Mandy's apartment, but going to work everyday (and not being in the army), having a cellphone, and seeing movies with special effects were all now part of his routine. He'd taken up getting lunch with Mandy at a deli by the theater, and he always paid because he felt bad about still being on her futon. Mandy never said a word about him leaving, in fact she made it clear he was welcome to stay as long as he felt he wanted to. "Whatever you want to to is what you want to do. This is the 21st century in America, people do what they please, for themselves."

"Well that goes for you too," Bucky reminded her, "You can ask me to leave whenever ..."

She shook her head cutting him off, "You'll know if I want you to leave. I've taken up a no nonsense policy since my last screw up of a roommate/boyfriend left. It won't be a secret if I want someone gone from my life."

"Oh," Bucky replied, embarrassed, "Good to know."

Doing what you want to do seemed to be part of Mandy's regular pep talks, as it was becoming apparent. Every time Bucky asked her opinion it was always "well what do _you_ want?" Unless it was something directly pertaining to her, Mandy wanted him to choose on his own. It was like relearning how to care about yourself, Bucky realized. He'd been compliant for so long he'd forgotten that he could care about things. He could choose what shirt he wore, what he ordered for lunch, how he liked his eggs with breakfast…

"So you didn't like wolf of Wall Street?" Mandy asked, interrupting his train of thought and shaking some ketchup onto her fries.

"No," Bucky replied honestly. They'd watched it last night on a DVD (which was a type of movie a company called "the red box" sold). "Call me old fashion but that was highly inappropriate behavior for a businessman."

"Says the 90 old American who was a Russian assassin and swears like a sailor during a heated card game."

"Sorry," Bucky shrugged, running his hand through his hair subconsciously. Mandy was grinning at him, something he'd noticed she did a lot when they got to talking about movies together. It made him uncomfortable in a kind of familiar and "good" way.

"Not to mention," Mandy said biting a fry, "You certainly don't look like Mr. 1940s man, so any time you want to stop being a stick in the mud..."

She giggled, signaling she was just teasing. He sighed, carding through his hair again. After a moment he glanced at her and then said, "I've actually been contemplating... Do you think I should do something … with this?"

"With your hair?" Mandy asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not my domain, that's up to you."

"But I want your opinion," Bucky told her earnestly, "Like you said, I'm Mr. 1940s, but I'm not anymore... I mean it isn't bothering me to just keep it as is, sort of, it just feels... Wrong, kinda. I'm not the same person I was with Hydra, and I'm not the same guy I was with the US military either so... I don't know... Forget it, it's a stupid question."

"You're allowed to ask stupid questions," Mandy laughed, "Its part of being human. But seriously, it isn't up to me to decide. It doesn't impact me, I just think you should do what makes you happy. That impacts me, because I don't want an unhappy man-who-can-kill-me-with-his-bare-hands on my couch."

"Got it," Bucky sighed again, "I'm just having a hard time figuring out what the current me wants. I don't really remember what the old me liked, and Russian-me didn't like much of anything…"

"Well, we know you like burgers and fries. You don't like poppy seed bagels. Or Leonardo DiCaprio movies."

"He can't act!"

"Says you!"

"You just like him because you think he's charming."

Mandy blushed deeply and Bucky was reminded of a conversation they'd had before. "Before you knew who I was, you said something about thinking Captain America's friend in the Smithsonian videos was charming."

"I was just trying to get a rise out of you, to see if you were him… You, I guess"

"Yeah," Bucky replied knowingly, "I understand, sorry."

* * *

"You know, folks like you don't come in here all too often," the kind faced woman behind Bucky said as she fussed with her cart of brushes, clips, and combs.

"I'm sure of that," Bucky sighed, "But I guess there's always one who does."

"You look lost, kid," the woman told him, her name tag said she was Sheila. "You know more often than not when I think someone looks lost, it's because they've stopped living life one way, and now they're thinking it's high time they started over. Is that you?"

"Pretty much," he told her.

Sheila was quiet for a moment, "You were in a war, weren't you? I seen that look one too many times on the face of a young guy, that's why you're lost, ain't it?"

Bucky nodded slowly.

"My son was in the war too, over in Iraq. Twenty two years old, bravest soul… He wound up just like you when he came back. Didn't know up from down, stopped caring… It wasn't the same seeing him show up for dinner looking bedraggled and distant. A year after he came back from the war, his depression got the best of him… I hope you pull through, kid."

"I'm sorry, about your son," Bucky said quietly, "I can't say I'm in the same exact same state of mind, but I've been there. It isn't fun, to come back to the civilian world after seeing battle… It does something to you."

Sheila nodded gravely, "I'm glad to see you've still got your wits about you, kid. You must have a ray of sunshine tucked in your back pocket, keeping you going. I wish Jay had that, but I don't know what good it would have done him… You keep your chin up, kid."

"I'll do my best," Bucky told her, "Thank you."

Sheila nodded again, combing his hair, "So, we ain't gonna shock your system are we? I don't want to send you out of here with your tail between your legs."

"Quite frankly ma'am, I think that's what I might need. My system's been running a little slow lately."

Sheila offered a kind smile, "Say, you know, I think I know what would suit you. Mind if I take a little creative license?"

"Creative sounds like just what I need," Bucky told her, "I just need something… different."

Oddly enough when he left Sheila's chair it wasn't something creative Sheila had done, but rather something very familiar, at least for Bucky. The face in the mirror when he stood up to leave was one he hadn't seen in quite a long time, but it was a surprisingly welcome sight.

There was a hint of something in Sheila's eyes when he went to pay her and she asked, "So, what war did you serve in?"

"One too many," Bucky replied, "That's all I know."

"Ah," Sheila mused, "Well, you have a good day sir. And thank you, for your service."

As he walked by the glass shop windows on the way back to Mandy's, the face he saw looking back at him looked an awful lot like Bucky Barnes, and he was beginning to think he was okay with that.

**Current Threat Level Status: ****_moderate _**


End file.
